


Whisky Lullabies

by FoxyWolfMeerkat



Series: The Sea Turtle and The Peacock [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, No Dialogue, teen drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 13:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12109740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyWolfMeerkat/pseuds/FoxyWolfMeerkat
Summary: Scars they heal in time / The raw wounds on my mind, they aren't as easily fixedYou can't mend what isn't broken / Kind words are rarely spoken, in time I will learn thisBut I grow older and the nights grow shorter, drowning as I sink or swim





	Whisky Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vQRDKIzSjE

Dorian shouldn't have been doing this. He should have had more self control or- No. No, they couldn't tell him he couldn't have this. The hypocrisy was wild.  
He pulled a bottle from the glass cabinet, hurrying back to his room lest anyone stop him. Not that anyone was around to with his parents gone. The drink was _bitter_ and while he managed to get it down he sputtered and coughed and shivered after. His eyes watered as he tried again. His mother got this stuff down like it was nothing- Dorian never would have guessed it _burned_ the way it did.  
The more he drank, the nicer the burn became and less it make him cough, as he adjusted to the bitterness the less he reacted to it. He couldn't say he liked it exactly. Maybe with more time?  
Not that he'd get another bottle after this. He wasn't even halfway through, but he could feel it in his limbs and head. Other people had called it a 'buzz'. At first, perhaps. Then it was a muffling fog. He felt himself getting sick on it.  
Dorian was surprised when he realized the bottle had slipped from his grasp. There was no rug on the floor though, nothing for the wine to stain, so he didn't bother trying to fetch it.  
Let them see.  
This, at least, was something everyone in Tevinter was doing. This was normal. Even his mother did it. Dorian smirked dreamily, wondering if perhaps this would even please them. Not likely. He grabbed his head, feeling the world spin around him. He could hear... His mother. They were home. Why was... He sucked in air, trying to quell his nausea.  
The door creaked slightly open. Then more. She came in. His mother picked up the bottle and righted it, and Dorian snatched it from the floor to polish off whatever remained inside in defiance. This proved a regrettable choice, his mother was the only thing that kept him from puking on his own knees. Moving to the floor, with her help, was a blur. Dorian didn't bother keeping track of how many times his stomach turned up and up, making sure there was nothing left in it. The teen let his mother guide him away from the vomit and puddle of purple-red (he didn't notice if they'd mixed) by his bed. Her hand rubbed his back in a smooth circle that pulled the exhaustion out of him. On his hands and knees, he braced for being sick again but found his face pressed up against the stone of the floor. It felt so _good_ against his flushed face. Normally he might have been horrified to be in his position, but he could only really keep up enough of a line of thought to nuzzle the ground in an attempt to cool down.  
He whined when his mother sat him up, tune changing almost instantly when she pressed a damp rag against his face. She cleaned him up dutifully, helping him into nightclothes despite his wobbling. In the fuzz of his mind, he questioned why she was pulling him into another room but it didn't reach his tongue. The question vanished altogether when he hit the big, soft bed. He curled up and his mother tucked him in, wrapped around and hugging him tightly as he drifted away.

\-----

Aquinea left the guest room she'd stuck Dorian in quietly, snapping at a waiting slave to start cleaning up the mess in his room. Get help if they wanted, she didn't care. The woman made the short walk from the carefully selected guest room to her own quarters and entered them with the intention of being left alone. The door clicked closed behind her back and she slid down to the floor, dirtied black dress pooling around her feet.  
Her chest bucked, sob crawling it's way up her throat like familiar bile.  
This really was all her fault. Maybe it was just from seeing her. Maybe it was from those last few weeks carrying him, the days where she hadn't been able to stand it. He _seemed_ healthy. Yet he was so reckless and impulsive and argumentative. Right from the day he was born it seemed like.  
All her fault.  
Too late to change a thing. Too tightly bound to change his fate.  
He couldn't share hers, Maker please.  
Do something besides watch the suffering, for once.

 

_\-----_

 

The teen was leaving again soon. This time for the Order of Argent. So she'd taken him out to a party. Had him dressed up and beautiful. Or well, he'd done that himself. Aquinea pinched gently to make him correct his posture. He shot her a soft apology. Taking his arm, she led him to a bar and ordered a special white wine. Expensive and Orlesian. Two glasses.

Dorian was surprised when she offered it one of them to him, taking it gingerly. His mother toasted him, wishing him the best of luck. In what exactly, she didn't specify. This wine was sweeter, among many other things. He spoke to her quietly about the differences, her tongue deftly filling in when his own words failed him. They took their time with their drinks, milling about and watching other people dance.  
Once the wine was gone, they gave their glasses away and Aquinea pulled Dorian out onto the dance floor. She danced with her sweet son, enjoying the slight lack of balance between them that set them apart from anyone else surrounding them. At least now he was smiling. The illusion of happiness had never been so paper thin between them, but they had this moment to pretend without really pretending at all.

 

\-----

 

Hanhari shook the body at the bar gently, frowning as he got little more than a groan in responce. Drink himself into a stupor indeed. The bartender sneered at him, wanting the Tevinter gone from his space. The Herald complied, getting the human's arm around his shoulder and pulling him down from the stool. By some immense luck, while the man would surely collapse without help, he had at least enough self awareness remaining to try and help. The elf wasn't sure he could have moved him at all otherwise.  
Carefully, he pulled the other mage out of the Herald's Rest and back towards the keep. The stairs were going to be hell, but the sweet drunk things being cooed into his ear did at least make the efforts worth something.  
In truth he'd have prefered Dorian not be drunk at all but apparently this 'enthusiasm' for drink was something common in Tevinter. The Iron Bull claimed that on Seheron he'd discovered that it was entirely possible to outright kill some Tevhen by simply denying them access to spirits (and not the Fade kind). Dorian wasn't one of those individuals. Ideally.  
Hanhari had never liked alcohol.

 

\-----

 

When his mother arrived at Skyhold it was days from her nameday. He needed to get her something. Or do something for her. Their relationship was far from perfect but-  
Like his father, she wasn't a bad person. She cared so deeply that she had to smother it after all. Or perhaps she did so because she didn't really know what to do with her care. He didn't know that much about what went on in the woman's head.  
He ended up begging for Josephine's help getting some white wine. Expensive and Orlesian. She was surprised that it was neither red nor Tevinter, but was eager to help. His mother was technically a potential ally after all. That was enough for Josephine. She'd been received even worse than he had after all, and any chance to make up for it was a mercy.

 

He shared it with her in his corner of Skyhold, the woman splitting it with him. His mother was wrapped in a heavy quilt and sitting in a decent chair he'd managed to find around, listening to him read to her with rapt attention. At first at least. Night fell, the bottle drained. Eventually she requested more, whatever terrible alcohol they had would be sufficient.  
As long as they shared it.  
He returned with dreadful whiskey that'd been brewed somewhere in Ferelden. Cheap. His mother didn't seem any less content however. Dorian was glad he'd picked up a few bottles. He'd keep reading until the glass his mother had been holding clattered on the ground. In the chair and quilt, bundled comfortably, she'd managed to fall completely asleep. She even snored a little in her awkward position.

Dorian saved his place in his book, getting up to carry his old woman to what had before been his room, when they'd come to Skyhold. He tucked her in, pulling her hair loose of it's decorations and then leaving to finish his drink and head up to join Hanhari in bed.

 


End file.
